


Crown of Madness

by NostramosRevenge



Series: Nostramo's Revenge [1]
Category: WH40K - Fandom, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k
Genre: Gen, Nostramo's Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-08-26 21:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16689103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NostramosRevenge/pseuds/NostramosRevenge
Summary: A squad of rogue Night Lords enters a kingdom of insanity where the throne belongs to none other than Konrad Curze in order to launch a daring raid to avenge one of the Eighth's most embarassing defeats in over 10,000 years.





	1. Warped Nightmares

"Interrogate the prisoners. Get those coordinates, and make it quick."

That was what Vermil had been told. Fine. Whatever. He'd do it if just to be alone for a while with his thoughts.

Vermil walked into the cell with the prisoners and began his work. One by one, he tortured each prisoner excruciatingly, extracting whatever information they could give. Each defiantly claimed he'd get nothing from them. Each had cracked. This last one, however, was a challenge. She had not yet given in. She had brown hair, caked with mud and blood. Her clothes were ragged and filthy as well. Her emaciated body had contained considerable willpower. She would be interesting.

Having already flayed much of her body, Vermil took the scalpel higher. Vermil would cut off her face unless she gave him the final set of coordinates he knew she had. Watching carefully as he slowly pressed the scalpel against her jaw, Vermil looked at her face and drew back in horror. Now, she had light blond hair, nearly white. Her eyes were black, her face clean but plain. Vermil screamed, only for her to melt from some unimaginable heat. The charred face stared blankly at him. Stumbling backwards, Vermil saw that same melted face on each prisoner. Blackness overtook Vermil.

Vermil awoke to find a bloody scalpel in his hand. Confused, he stood up. It was then that he noticed the blood at his feet. It led in a trail towards a wall. Turning to face the trail, Vermil followed it with his eyes. Then he nearly vomited, quite a feat for an astartes.

The wall opposite him was covered in a tapestry of faces. All of them were the same face, that same blonde haired girl's face. And all were crying for help. Vermil tried to drown their pleas out but they only grew louder and louder. Vermil began stabbing the faces hoping to silence them, but to no avail. They simply screamed through the blood and pain. Desperate to end their cries, he turned the scalpel to himself and pulled as hard as he could towards his awaiting throat.

Vermil bolted upright in his bunk. Instinctively, his hands went to his throat. His hands were met with something wet. Vermil jumped out of the bunk and looked at his reflection in a nearby knife. Vermil saw that his neck was covered in blood. Vermil cautiously probed his neck to find his injury and found nothing. No cut nor wound. Nothing but blood. Looking around his quarters, reality slowly seeped into Vermil's mind. It had only been a dream. The ship was in the warp and that always caused strange dreams.

Now awake, Vermil did not stir. There was no point. He hadn't eaten in over 5 days. There was no point. Sighing, Vermil closed his eyes and sifted through his memories, trying to find that blonde-haired girl's face. There was, as always, no point. Unable to sleep and unwilling to stay awake, Vermil decided to lay in his bunk and try to somehow compromise.

No point.

Frustrated, Vermil rose from his bunk. He began maintaining his plasma launcher. Taking it apart, cleaning it, and reassembling it over and over.

***

Niel was also carefully maintaining his weapon after his own warp dream. His weapon was a finely crafted power sword, made from Nostraman adamantium. Niel cared for it as one might a lover. The others mocked him for being so diligent. Niel would not allow his weapon to be found wanting. The rest of his equipment was similarly kept, as if he expected to be in a parade at any moment. Niel's possessions were maintained and stored exactly as though he were still in the Eighth Legiones Astartes. Niel believed he still was, to some degree. The others, not so much.

Niel's dream had been about the Imperial Palace.

He was outside the throne room itself. To every side of him was the utter chaos of battle. Niel saw an incoming swing from a Custodes. He parried the blow hard, sending the sword into the stomach of a nearby Custodes. Niel then beheaded his attacker and punched his sword through the chest of yet another, savoring the feeling of victory. To his left, another Night Lord was making short work of several Custodes with his chainglaive.

The end of the fight came suddenly, a deafening silence following the roars and screams of battle. All the Custodes were dead, though many more Night Lords had fallen. Finally, the throne room itself was open.

Niel was the first to enter the throne room. He ran as fast as he could, preparing to slay the dead man on his throne. When he got to the throne, he saw it was not the Emperor seated upon it.

It was Night Haunter.

In a flash, it was all gone. Now he stood in a crumbled ruin of a throne room. The black throne in front of him was empty. _Tsagualsa_. No glory, no brotherhood, no future. He saw that the last chance for unity had long ago passed. The Eighth was dead.

Niel woke up and shook off his dream. It meant nothing. The legion would tear Terra down, and he'd be there. The legion was not dead yet.

***

Geran was angrily pacing. His dreams had only fueled his anger at the Imperium. He'd dreamed of Nostramo. Unlike the others, his dream was a memory of the past, completely unaltered by the warp, though no less terrible.

Geran was only 8 years old and his family was dirt poor, but Geran felt like the richest man alive. He had just bought a very fine candle using money he'd made doing various odd jobs for the local shop owners. The candle wasn't for him, but for his mother. Geran loved his mother. She was a beautiful, kind woman who loved to collect candles. She had dozens of them. Geran suspected that she too was afraid of the dark.

Geran opened the door to his family's small home. His mother was crying. She stopped upon seeing her son, and smiled. She threw away a tissue behind her back that Geran saw had blood on it. Geran beamed at her and held out the candle. His mother was touched. She told him she'd never light it, to save the candle. She said he was the only light she needed. They hugged.

There was an angry knocking on the door. Geran's mother told him to hide. Geran obliged, hiding in the kitchen behind a counter. He heard voices. One of them was his father. The words slurred together as he spoke words Geran didn't understand at the time. Then he heard his mother cry out.

Geran peeked out of his spot and saw four men mistreating his mother. She was bleeding profusely from a cut to her neck, but that didn't stop them. Geran stepped out and told them to stop. His father turned towards him, knife in hand.

Authorities came to the house later after it had burned down. They discovered candles to be the fire's cause. They also found four dead bodies, which they believed to be the result of a lion somehow loosed in the home.

Geran had fled. He'd redressed his mother before burying her in a nearby graveyard. As Geran buried his mother that night, hands bleeding from the effort, he buried some part of himself with her.

***

Eslez was meditating. He consulted the dark gods, listened to their promises, and tried to strike deals with them. Eslez promised the gods favors in exchange for favors. He'd always held up his bargains and the gods had rewarded him well. His refusal to acknowledge their superiority irked them, however.

At this time, he was particularly engaged with the Whisperer. Not their true name, but it was good enough. Both spun lies and half-truths at each other, making false promises and spouting riddles. Eventually, truth would rise through the fog.

***

The squad's captain, Marls, was flying the ship. It had once been a cargo freighter, but now was something entirely different. Junk by most standards, but it worked well enough. The squad was heading back to their home after another disappointing raid.

Marls pulled the ship out of the warp and saw the squad's home fill his field of view. It was a massive space hulk, consisting of possibly dozens of ships that were cruisers or bigger. Plenty of supplies to keep the squad functional, but nothing that could improve morale.

Marls docked the ship and the Night Lords began inspecting their loot.

Useless. The cargo was almost entirely useless.

Spare parts for unknown machines, ammo for weapons the squad didn't have, and a handful of maps of Ultramar's shipping routes.

"This is pathetic.", Geran began. "We used to be the fear of the galaxy. Now we're barely managing petty raids for supplies we can't even use!" Geran hurled a wrench across the room, embedding it in a wall.

Niel spoke next. "I agree. This is beneath us. We are the Eighth Legion. We were built for fear, not piracy."

Eslez laughed drily and told Niel he was an idiot. Marls cut in before they could begin their usual bickering. "This raid was a perfect success. We got exactly what we needed."

All of them slowly turned to face Marls. Marls pulled out one of the maps. The map had a few large blobs labelled with crude drawings of the xenos inhabiting each blob. Marls pointed to the north of the Ultramar region. There was a massive blob marked as a plague zone, labeled the Xersinia Wastes. Just to the south of this area was a planet they knew all too well.

 _Sotha_. Marls could tell he had their attention.

"It's simple. We go through the wastes and hit Sotha. Ultramar's so busy mopping up the Death Guard that they'll be hard-pressed to fight us off in time."

Geran grumbled about the rumors of Roboute Guilliman's return. Niel looked to Geran then Marls, made a mockingly pompous voice, and said, "Theoretically, they must have defenses in place. Practically, we don't have the firepower to break them."

"I may have a solution to that" Eslez pointed to the map. He was pointing at an insignificant planet right on the boundary of two xenos blobs. One labeled Eldar, the other labelled Greenskin. "We go here first. He'll want payment in stones."

"Who?" Marls asked.

"Fateless"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geran's mother being raped is the reason for the rape/non-con rating on this story. There are no other scenes depicting rape planned for this story.


	2. The Dark Kings

The world had a name, though none in the squad had cared enough to remember it. The miserable, bleak ball of mud was situated right between an ork horde and an eldar craftworld. The human populace was long gone, slaughtered by orks. The orks were pushing the eldar back slowly. This made the perfect opportunity for Eslez's scheme.

Eslez guided Marls towards the planet's surface, deftly avoiding detection by either xenos. His eyes were closed the entire time.

On a nearby hill, the ork horde pushes through the eldar's position. The eldar are forced to retreat into their webway gates to strike from another angle. The orks face their enemy from this new angle, shifting the battle away from the hill. A few eldar appeared near the carnage at the hill and began tending to their dead. Now was the chance.

Eslez took control of the ship while Marls moved towards the airlock. He took the craft just over the hill while the rest of the squad prepared to jump. First, they each attached a long cable to the winches placed near the airlocks. This was not their first drop. Then they leapt down to the hill.

There were only a few eldar alive on the hill and they were lightly armed. The true warriors were already engaged with the orks. The squad got to work taking the glowing crystal-like stones from each fallen eldar. A few more eldar arrived through gateways, but were quickly put down. Finally, the squad had finished. Climbing back up the ropes, they took stock of their loot. 85 stones in all. Perfect.

The journey to Fateless wasn't a difficult one. Many Night Lords knew it, since Fateless offered use of his shipyards to any Night Lord fleets not corrupted by the Ruinous Powers. He had the fleet power to prevent anybody from taking advantage of his hospitality.

The journey consisted of flying right into a massive warp storm, and hoping for the best. This time, the squad was lucky and made very good time. Within a day, they were pulled out of the warp. They exited the warp directly in front of a massive cruiser, which began to power up it's weapons.

***

This had to work. Jeravir "Fateless" was counting on it. The Legion could not possibly survive this and somebody had to preserve it. Ever since Curze's death, things had spiraled out of control. It was only a matter of time before it all went to hell. Now that the Ultramarines had come for them on Tsagualsa, time had run out.

Jeravir was only a sergeant, but ranks barely mattered at this point. As far as he was concerned, three men held the future to the legion. The first, of course, was himself. The second was his squad's apothecary, "Mender". Thirdly, the techmarine "Remembrancer". Mender was gathering all the geneseed he could muster while Remembrancer obtained a ship.

Remembrancer had plenty of help. Some 200 fellow Night Lords had decided to aid Fateless. Being gifted a name by Curze gave one considerable sway. The Legion had always had inner circles.

The Ultramarines presented a serious problem, though. Getting the ship and getting the geneseed were the least of Fateless's worries. Getting past the thrice damned blockade was. For every ten ships that launched, about half a ship survived. These casualties were catastrophic.

Jeravir had a plan to get through it. It would not be pretty though.

Finally, they were ready. A small warpship named _Murder's Vengeance_ contained some 200 odd Night Lords, a few techpriests, plenty of geneseed, and a handful of artifacts that Remembrancer had insisted come along. Now came the hard part.

The Ultramarines had a massive tactical victory on their hands. The Night Lords simply could not counter their disciplined coordination. They could not gain the upper hand no matter how they tried to cheat.

Aboard the _Honorbound Duty_ , the proud Captain Cerlen stood at attention at the helm. His armor marked him as a well-awarded man, having served his chapter with exceptional tactical prowess. To his right, a servitor notified him of a launch at an unusual vector. A Night Lord ship was taking off on a bizarre path up and away from the battle's plane. Cerlen immediately set to analyzing this situation. The Night Lords ship was exposing her underbelly on this vector. Not only could that ship not fire a single damned gun anywhere near the Progenitor fleet, but it was giving _Honorbound Duty_ a perfect opportunity to cripple many of its systems. In theory, it was as desperate an escape as could possibly exist. In practice, no captain would ever be so stupid as to expose themselves thusly without reason.

"How much damage could we do to that ship?" Cerlen asked.

A servitor replied that by adjusting the pitch 13° upwards to bring their full weaponry to bear they could cleave the ship in two. At their current pitch, light to moderate damage.

Cerlen was ready to give the order to adjust when an idea knifed its way into his brain.

That's exactly what the Night Lords want.

Adjusting his pitch could expose his underbelly while simultaneously distracting him from maintaining his barrage. His guns would be unable to repel a boarding party launched in an uppercut to his ships lower decks. Those Night Lords could wreak havoc. They'd never be rid of them. A perfect 2 in 1 tactical victory. The Night Lord ship is damaged but possibly escapes intact while his own ship is scuttled or overrun, possibly turning the tide of the engagement. Unthinkable, to be outplayed by the sons of a murderer. He ordered his crew to stay their course and continue bombardment.

"I can't believe that worked." Mender muttered.

"For being geniuses, they really are morons." Remembrancer replied.

Of course they weren't a diversion. But, no Ultramarine would accept so easy a target. Simply put, they'd never expect their enemy to make the stupidest possible decision. They had yet to truly understand the Night Lords, obviously.

"Impact on the lower decks!" Remembrancer read off a damage report, and it was bad. The ship's Gellar Field generators were damaged severely and repairs would not be possible at any acceptable pace. They would never work in this condition.

Apparently, not every Ultramarine ship captain shared Cerlen's crippling tactical prowess. Fateless considered the situation, then gave what he knew might be his last order.

"Enter the warp."

***

They were being hailed. Marls flicked a switch, enabling two-way communication.

"This is Marls, sergeant of the former Eighth Legion. I've come to speak to Jeravir."

"And so you shall. _Murder's Vengeance_ is moving to intercept, you will come aboard and exit your craft. You can bring whatever weapons you wish, they'll do you no good anyway."

"Warm welcome." Geran muttered.

Marls carefully guided the ship into _Murder's Vengeance_ 's docking bay, where a squad of Dark Kings waited. Each had a winged skull wearing a crown on their pauldron. The Corona Nox atop the legion. Marls had heard a rumor that the crown had ended up here, but Niels swore upon a different rumor involving the Talonmaster. Not that it mattered anyways.

In front of the Dark Kings was an astartes wearing a black cloak and a narthecium. Marls knew him to be Mender.

Mender looked each astartes up and down, paying very close attention to Eslez. Finally, he gave a hand signal and the other Dark Kings relaxed slightly.

"We had to Judge you before letting you anywhere near Fateless."

The squad exchanged glances, then boarded the shuttle Mender led them to. Though spacious, the lack of viewports in the shuttle gave a cramped and ominous feeling.

The flight was actually very short, but in a cramped metal box filled with murderers, seconds become hours. The squad emerged into a fairly small hangar. Something was oddly familiar about the structure of the building. As they departed the shuttle, flanked by Dark Kings, another group of Dark Kings came to meet them. In front was Fateless.

Fateless wore the same lightning livery as everybody in the room, but his seemed somehow more alive. He wore a blood red cape and carried a power sword at his side. Fateless supposedly had been given that sword by the Primarch himself. Marls also noted power claw grooves in his wrists. Most notably, though, he wore a dark metallic crown with a single smooth ruby in front.

Marls knew exactly how to please Fateless's type. Marls greeted him with an open hand over his heart, the traditional salute of the 8th Legion. Fateless returned the salute and smiled just a hint.

"Marls, it's good to see you. I always hoped you'd survived our Reckoning. And I see your squad is still alive. Geran, the Last Lion of Nostramo."

Geran grunted angrily. That name had fallen out of use way back in the Thramas Crusade. Nobody had ever spoken it since. 

"Geran, the other Lion is long dead at the hands of his own men. You are the only lion left."

Fateless turned to Niel, who was standing at parade attention. He looked over him, Eslez, and Vermil, then turned back to Marls  

"Come with me. We will talk about why you all are here."

The squad followed Fateless alone through several halls, eventually reaching a room with plenty of meeting tables and a massive black granite throne overlooking the room. On the throne sat a small knife. Marls recognized it as one of Curze's Widowmakers.

They all sat down at a table, and Eslez sprang into action pitching his scheme. He handed Fateless the Eldar soul stones, which Fateless looked over for a few seconds. Fateless hated the Eldar and would enjoy destroying them. Next, Eslez launched into what their plan was and what help they'd need from the Dark Kings.

The plan called for a warp jump into an uninhabited region near Sotha, then a sublight approach towards the planet. Most defenses were built around a fleet warp jumping into the system, not approaching sublight as they would. Before all this, though, they would need to speak to Bloodeater, the mad angel.

Fateless hesitated after they mentioned Bloodeater. He had no idea how they knew of him, as that secret was for him and the Judges alone. No matter. They knew, and they wanted to see him, so be it.

Fateless liked this plan. An unexpectedly bold move that would not only avenge the embarrassing battle at Sotha but would also bring terror to the 500 worlds of Ultramar. Fateless told them to once again follow him to see Bloodeater.

***

Bloodeater was restrained in a lower level of the building they were in. He had been there for years and still was mostly a mystery. The Judges had repeatedly given him warp taint clearance, so whatever madness he had was not of the warp.

Bloodeater only could survive by drinking blood, other foods did not sate his hunger in the slightest. His once majestic blood red armor was now stained all over with ugly brown crusts. His winged drop of blood on his pauldron had long ago cracked, just as his mind had.

Most notable about Bloodeater were his visions. These were why he was still alive. When given a person's blood, he would have visions of their future. He'd come to be an oracle of sorts. Marls was going to offer his blood to the mad angel.

***

Jeravir was to meet the primarch for the first time. He was the sole survivor of his squad after a nasty skirmish with the Dark Angels. Jeravir's prowess during the battle had supposedly been exemplary. He'd saved about 3 squads of Night Lords from the sons of the Lion. Now he was to be honoured by a meeting with his primarch.

The lift stopped. Jeravir walked out and found a small room. In that room was a massive shadow. The shadow resolved into Konrad Curze. Curze saw that Jeravir's sword was broken and gave him a new one. Curze had of course already heard the tale of him breaking his sword in battle then still using the blade as a weapon. This new sword was a power sword of finely smithed Nostraman adamantium. It had a dark grey blade and a winged skull for its handle. The skull had the Corona Nox atop it. This marked it as a sword of the primarch himself. What had been a shortsword for the primarch was a longsword for Jeravir. Curze looked at Jeravir for a long time, then began to descend into a mad furor.

In the eye of Curze's mind, he saw Jeravir on Nostramo, hunting and flaying some street thug. Just as he finished, the dark sky turned bright with a massive flash. Everything burned. Jeravir would die with Nostramo.

The problem was, Nostramo had already burned. Jeravir's death had not come to pass, yet it was still the only death Curze could see for the man. In his manic state from the vision, Curze could not process this revelation. Jeravir's fated death had not come for him.

He mumbled incoherently, with only one word being clear.

"Fateless"

***

Marls entered Bloodeater's cell. It was dark, though not to Marls. He could see perfectly in this room. All the old bloodstains covering everything, including the Blood Angel in the corner who was giving him a look of glee. Eslez had told Marls what to do next. Cautiously, he held out his arm, stripped bare.

Bloodeater came to Marls like a dog would if offered a treat. Bloodeater bit into Marl's arm and drank of the blood that came. Marls winced but did not strike out, despite every reflex and instinct he had. Bloodeater then drew to his full height, a mad gleam in his eye. He spoke in a deep, clear voice that almost thundered in the tiny cell.

"Marls of the Eighth, this mission you seek may be your undoing. I see three deadly foes you will face, each worse than the one before. Within the Xercinia Wastes lies a danger far worse than you believe."

"Who are the foes? We'll kill anyone in our way." Marls kept calm, trying not to send the man into lunacy.

"These foes won't die that easily. The first will never die, the second will die before your fight begins and the third is already dead."

"I'm fighting a graveyard, then?"

Bloodeater moved so fast Marls never even saw it. He pinned Marls against the wall by his throat. Marls struggled but could not break the hold.

"You won't find it so funny when you're the dead man!"

Marls finally managed to wrestle himself free of Bloodeater's grip. Bloodeater did not attempt to grab him again.

"What's in the Wastes?" Marls asked.

Bloodeater stared back in silence, the mad gleam in his eye overwhelming now. His postured shifted to a more animalistic, hunched stance. He started licking at the blood left on his face.

This conversation was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Captain Cerlen is named for cerulean, a shade of blue.  
> Honorbound Duty's name is loosely based on Macragge's Honor.


	3. Black Souls

The child was having a nightmare. She could tell. She could always spot nightmares. Poor boy. He had plenty to have nightmares about, ever since he'd been rescued from certain hell and brought onto a massive space hulk. Surely seeing his friends and family being dragged away screaming by the knife-elves as he called them had damaged him. She didn't blame him. She'd had nightmares at first too.

She hadn't glowed during them, though.

His eyes glowed brightly enough for the light to be visible like headlights through his closed eyelids. It was entirely unsettling to see. His hand moved on its own accord, waving back and forth. Finally she realized he was drawing and handed him a data pad and stylus.

After he finished drawing, he passed out into a deep sleep. His drawing was nothing but dots and lines. Some lines connected dots, others seemed to point somewhere in the drawing. She voxed in, recounting what happened and uploading the drawing. She waited no more than two minutes before her vox came alive. There was static, than came the vox-distorted reply.

"I received your message, the drawing is coming up now."

Static crackled, then the voice returned.

"It's a map of the night sky. It'll take some time to find out where in the galaxy the view is from. It's definitely not from his home planet, the position of the galactic core is wrong."

She frowned. She had a feeling she knew what his answer would be but still had to ask.

"Are we going there when you figure it out?"

"We will depart at once with everyone old enough, save a few caretakers. Ready yourself, Sornehn. This could be trouble."

"Understood."

Sornehn shut off the vox, leaving her to wonder just what Latix was getting them all into.  
  
***

Fateless had never fully believed in foresight. This was why he never made it into Curze's inner circle. The others mocked him, calling him Fateless as an insult for his lack of faith in their father, unaware of the true reason Curze gave him that name. Curze, however, insisted on counseling with him alone on occasion.

Now, as Marls told everyone what Bloodeater had said, Fateless believed in the visions. Geran didn't.

"So we're supposed to finish off what the Reaper couldn't? How the hell can a bunch of corpses threaten us? By the way, I looked into the wastes; they're quarantined for a plague. Stay on the ship, we'll be fine even if it's from the warp's own bowels."

"Calm down, Geran."

Marls put a hand on Geran's shoulder to keep him in check.

"We do this, we could bring the Eighth back. If we just pull this off..." Eslez began.

"If we pull it off." Marls turned to face Eslez.

"And if we don't, what happens? We die like trash, scavenging for scraps in a wrecked ship. I say we make Ultramar rue the day they took up arms against us and remind the galaxy that the Night Lords will come for them." Niel, as always, sounded exaggeratedly dramatic.

"I don't care" Vermil sighed. "Die in the wastes, die in our space hulk, die right here, doesn't matter."

"It's settled then. We do it." Marls concluded.

***

Now they sat in a room near the _Murder's Vengeance_ 's hangar bays. Bloodeater had chains wrapped around him securing him to the seat. Geran had his jump-pack ready to go and idly flicked his claws in and out. Niel was in a calm, almost meditative state, breathing deeply in and out. He occasionally came out of it to check his equipment, then returned to breathing in and out. Vermil sat in a corner, head down staring at the scratches he'd carved into his vambrace. Vermil had long ago written a single name amongst the scratches that you'd only find if looking for it. His plasma launcher sat next to him on the bench. Eslez was silent, only because his vox was off. Inside the privacy of his helm, he made offers and deals to whatever whispers he could find.

***

 _Murder's Vengeance_ led the fleet. Back in the Heresy, a fleet the size of this would never have accomplished much. Nowadays, this fleet could raze worlds and terrorize almost anything it came across.

Fateless stood on the bridge, watching his crew. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the Judges doing the same. Only where he watched for signs of trouble, they intently scanned for signs of warp taint. Going through the warp always put them on edge.

Fareless checked the chrono on his helm's display. It was time.

A hologram flickered into existence on the bridge. Nearly every room on the ship had the exact same hologram playing. It was Curze. He stood addressing the Night Lords when the legion had first met their father. Remembrancer had found the holo somewhere and started playing it to himself. Mender had requested he play it in the apothecarium to boost morale. Now, almost everybody watched the hologram when Remembrancer broadcast it.

The Dark Kings constantly reminded themselves who the true Dark King was. That was the reason behind the broadcast. That was also the reason for the empty granite thrones none would dare sit on. The imposing presence reminded the Dark Kings whose will they truly served.

The broadcast puttered out, and the usual level of background noise returned.

***

 _Murder's Vengeance_ was finally in position. Too much further and they risked detection by astropaths on Sotha. The rest of the journey would be sublight.

 _Murder's Vengeance_ pulled out of the warp and into the Materium. A planet loomed nearby, the surface seemingly barren. Its star was nowhere to be seen.

" _Alert: Unknown contacts_ ," a servitor stated flatly. Fateless checked the display and saw blips all around the _Murder's Vengeance_ at extremely close range.

The blips moved at insane speed and pulled maneuvers far beyond what Fateless believed possible for any pilot. They were all headed towards the ships in the fleet, each approaching a ship on a different vector.

"Pull up void shields and attempt to establish sensor data or at least visual contact. Vox the other ships and tell them to do the same. We need to know what the hell those things are!"

" _Alert: Sensor and visual data received. Sensor data - inconclusive. Visual analysis - inconclusive._ "

Fateless looked over the data. The contacts appeared to absorb all transmissions that hit them, and visually were nothing but black spots against the backdrop of interstellar space and the nearby planet. They were like black holes, but too small and mobile. They'd only been spotted due to an unknown radiation emitting from them.

" _Alert: Brace for impact_."

Each blip was on an impact course to a ship. No ship was to be spared. They struck simultaneously, but there came no alarms nor damage Fateless could find.

The spots phased through the hull of each ship effortlessly, losing no momentum and leaving no sign of their passing. The spots floated away, seemingly heading towards the planet. Fateless breathed a sigh of relief.

***

Seroz patrolled the lower decks of the _Murder's Vengeance_. He was a judge, and a good one at that. Thus far he'd detected no traces of warp taint among the crew or the ship. That was excellent news. He turned a corner and found a man holding another at knifepoint. Just as Seroz was about to intervene, a black orb shot through a wall, passing through Seroz on its way through the ship. Seroz died instantly, but his body continued walking towards the men. His eyes turned as black as the orb had been, darker than imagination could fathom. He began to intervene.

***

Fateless ordered all Judges to investigate the impact zones for warp traces. He also had Marls being his entire squad and Bloodeater to the bridge to explain the situation and consult Bloodeater. Bloodeater was currently in the throes of cursing Horus for killing him.

"Damn you, you whoreson! You've slain your own brother, and for what?! Your own ego?!"

Marls offered Bloodeater his arm, and Bloodeater drank from him. He calmed down and was silent. Then he broke free of his restraints calmly and asked, "What do you wish to see?"

"What were those things? Those orbs?"

Bloodeater shuddered and looked around in panic. "Black Souls. We're already damned here if we don't move quickly!"

"Is this one of those foes you mentioned?"

"No. Worse. You should not have come here."

Bloodeater's calm dissolved and he began frothing at the mouth. The squad restrained him once again, double-checking their work.

" _Alert: Alarm triggered in subsector 311-_ "

"Just tell me what happened!" Fateless snapped.

" _Sublight engines have been disabled by Judge Seroz and lower deck personnel. No life signs are detected in subsector 31174._ "

"Where the hell is Seroz and his gang, then?!" Geran shouted.

" _Subsector 31174_."

" _Alert: Incoming messages from escort ships. They report unknown internal hostile contacts disabling their sublight drives._ "

" _Alert: Hostile contacts detected in subsect-_  
 _Alert: Hostile cont-_  
 _Alert: Hostile_  
 _Alert: Hos-_  
 _Aler-_ "

Fateless finally destroyed the servitor.

"Seal off the bridge!"

The heavy doors grinded into place with a deafening roar. Once they locked into place, the ship was eerily quiet. No engine hum, no background noise from the crew, nothing. Then came banging on the doors.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black Souls are an obvious play on black holes while their behavior is similar to UFO/foo fighter reports. Sornehn in this story is approximately in her early twenties.


End file.
